My TRIBUTE TO THE RECLUSE POET

Posted on August 5, 2012

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THE RECLUSE POET
          —–
The recluse poet waits
At tables
Making money
For survival
          —–
Like Vincent
He gives his works away
For nothing
          —–
We greedily
Take all he gives
Little knowing
That our free meals today
          —–
Will cost
Five million dollars
As years roll onwards
          —–
But he, the Recluse poet
Will not fall down
The hollow conduit
Which swallowed Vincent whole
          —–
He will thrive
And be Acclaimed
And silently retire
Into
Reclusion
          —–
Like Jesus on the banks
Of Galillee
His prayers
The poetry
Of tomorrow
          —–
We, the great mass
Will come
For soul healing
The feeding
Of the Word
          —–
j.m.

Play Recluse Poet

August 4, 2012

Play

There is only a little seed, called sincerity.  Truth comes afterward.  She knows because she wakens humming.  I know because I hear her voice.

There is only a seed, the merest, basest seed.  But its presence is alarming, disturbing, demanding.  She knows because she pours it out.  I know because I drink it.

Truth is broader, wider, sainted.  Truth is in a book–it looks best down on paper.  She knows because she lies to me.  I know because I play along.

Reclusewritings

Poetry For You, For Me, From Me.  -Brian Looney

About Brian “Ponderosa” Looney

I wait tables for money, but I write for a living.  I’m from Albuquerque, NM USA.  Somewhere along the way I landed a BA in English, but I don’t remember much of that.  I am one of those literature snobs–I like the high-brow stuff.  I write all the work on my site, in addition to the manuscripts and the magazine submissions.  Sometimes they publish me, sometimes they don’t.  I’ve gotten used to it.
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Posted in: Poetry, Tributes